


Shift

by gertrudeabernathy



Series: Keyboard [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Derek Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gertrudeabernathy/pseuds/gertrudeabernathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has a talk to Derek, and a talk to Stiles, and then they perhaps need to have a little talk of their own.<br/>Derek is flummoxed, and sad, and an idiot, and annoying, and then very very attentive.<br/>Stiles is annoyed, and tired, and gobsmacked, and proactive, and then very, very confident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shift

It was full moon at last, and Scott decided it was high time to shift and go. He dropped down off his porch roof and loped away across the lawns with his blood singing and the air dancing around him with a thousand pieces of wonderful information.

He truly felt the bite as a gift at moments like this. Strength and speed and heightened senses - it was like a dangerous double helping of being young, full of thrill and risk.

Between the trees and over some rocks and through a little brook he ran, till the earth cycled away under his clawed toes, rolling away so he could balance perfectly, as long as he ran at full stretch.

Then he scented another runner, away, up to his left. Derek. He ran towards him, knowing Derek would hear him coming, and waiting to feel how the big wolf’s course would alter - towards him? Sharply away?

Instead Derek just kept running more or less in a straight line, slowing down for a moment till they could catch a glimpse of each other and their spacing was established, then racing him, but companionably, swinging around a tree if Scott picked his way over a drop, curving in to drive him on if he slowed down too much, and sometimes matching his pace and even stride when there was enough of an opening in the woods to permit them to run side by side, then darting back into the trees, on and on, sometimes faster than any human being had ever run, for miles. They were headed for the big rocky rise, the highest point on the Hale land, a bare island in the sea of black pines. 

When they got to the top, Derek howled at the sky, and tingling all over, Scott added his odd sobbing alto for a few breaths. Then he flopped on the ground and panted, and they looked up for a few minutes at the tiny but brilliant moon right above them.

“So. Derek.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about you and Stiles.”

Scott thought, aha, so that is what a 'guilty start' looks like.

“What?” said Derek, transparently trying for his normal dismissive incredulity.

It annoyed the shit out of Scott. "Who do you think you're talking to?" He rolled up to one elbow, right in front of the big alpha in a heartbeat, glaring him down. “Don’t even, not for one second. Please explain what you are doing with a raging hard-on for my straight, underage, ADD-raddled, human best friend.” 

All the fight went out of Derek, and he didn’t say a word.

“OK, well that’s honest at least.”

“How sure are you about the straight part?” said Derek after a minute, staring away over the hill like he was asking which way North was, or how far it would be to the sea, or about some other interesting but inconsequential fact.

“Not that sure,” said Scott, surprised to find that it felt all right to share. “I mean, ten years where the only girl he ever looked at was the meanest, most unattainable princess in Beacon Hills? And where even that was kind of about her brains, more than anything else?” 

“A guy like Stiles growing up in a small town is always going to be short on intellectual peers.”

“I guess…” said Scotty, thinking about that for the first time ever, and then thinking about Derek having put it in those terms. Then he winced. “You mean that I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“No.” Derek, climbing to his feet, still looking away. “I mean, you are, but I’m hardly in a position to talk, am I? I am fixated on a not-out third-string lacrosse player still at Beacon Hills High, who is also the son of the Sheriff.”

“There’s no one else you…”

“What, that I could make myself want, instead? I don't think that's how it works.”

“It seems like it could get complicated, is all.”

"Not like fucking Allison Argent, then?”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. But…” Derek hesitated, but couldn’t bear not to ask. “Do you know if he…?”

“How the fuck would I know?" Scott got up too, brushing off his knees. "We haven’t ever talked about all the men we might want to have sex with.”

“He wouldn’t be able to say anything to you about me then, even if he wanted someone to talk to, given that you have the default Bigot Hills homophobia happening. And also, he knows that you don’t like me.”

Scott looked at the loneliest person he had ever met, and felt a pang of guilt, followed by another wave of irritation. “Hey, he knows why I find it very hard to trust you, and so do you. And I don't have homophobia. I’m down with whatever he wants.”

“Are you? Would you be?” Derek was very serious. Scott suddenly felt ridiculously as if he was being asked for his fatherly permission to ask Stiles' hand in marriage.

“Whatever - if he’s happy, I’m happy, I guess. He’s a grown-up.”

“Well not legally, but - sure.” And Derek glared away at the woods, in a sort of mock-despair.

“But - Derek - he doesn't seem all that happy right now.“

“Are you thinking of last week, when he went nuts and screamed at me till he passed out?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Thanks, I caught it.”

“And - you can't start up with him and then change your mind. Once he decides he cares about someone - ”

“I got that one too, a while ago, when he was going blue holding me up in that pool because you wouldn't answer your phone.”

“And" - Scott scratched his head, almost ashamed of the cliche - "do I even need to say…”

“That if I hurt him, you’ll find a way to nail me into a coffin laced with wolfsbane and bury me, so I can lie there till I die of thirst, thinking about how I have fucked up?”

“Something like that.”

“I can’t promise that anything good will happen. I’m - only kind of in one piece, Scott.”

He looked back at Derek doubtfully, till the big wolf shrugged.

“It’s - anyway. I am probably too much of a coward to do anything about it. In another year, he’ll leave for college. If I don’t have to see him or touch him or smell him or hear about him, maybe this - “ he gestured roughly at his own head and torso; “maybe it will just fade away.”

Scott didn’t say anything, but he thought, 'Dude - you just pointed at YOU. What is it that you think will be fading away? And what are you thinking will be left over?' He took in a breath, probably to say something reassuring, but Derek was already gone, away in the dark below, so quietly that even listening hard, Scott wasn’t sure which way he had run, not with the night wind blowing cold in his face.

 

\-------

 

It was a week later, and Scott was lying on Stiles’ bed, with his shod feet hanging off one side, because he was too lazy to take his shoes off. He was waiting for Stiles to explain the impenetrable maths homework to him. Stiles’ face looked a bit pinched, and he rubbed his eyes and his forehead every now and then, as if he was fighting a headache or something. One shoulder hunched a bit as he typed. He looked cold. Scott was surprised to find himself talking.

“So Stiles.”

“Yup.” Stiles kept tapping away on his computer, hammering out a spectacularly lame conclusion to a lame civics paper.

“About Derek.”

“What about him?”

“Did you think he was being weird the other day?” The typing stopped.

“Weird, how?”

“He … wasn’t saying what he was thinking. Well - not all of it.”

Stiles stared at him. “So this interesting new data that you have uncovered, your discussion topic for today, as it were, is that Derek Hale has grown uncommunicative? That he is no longer his old chatty, sparkling, informative self?”

“Do you think he was always as creepy as he has been lately? Around you, I mean.”

“When were you talking to him without me around? And his creepiness-level strikes me as completely consistent.”

Scott rolled over onto his stomach in frustration.

“Do you really think he’s creepy? Stiles… you don’t really seem like you do, any more.”

“I…” Stiles was rubbing his face with both hands, avoiding the still-sore patches but trying to ease the itching on his cheekbone that plagued him whenever he became aware of it. “He…”

“I don’t know why I am telling you this…” Scott shook his head. “But he - likes you.”

Stiles stared.

“You know. LIKES you.”

"Why would you... how do you know?"

"You aren't surprised! You knew about him!" Scott started to look unhappy.

"I didn't KNOW! Don't look betrayed, Scott - I wasn't sure."

“Well - OK. You can be pretty sure now though."

"Right."

"And - I want to say this, even though it is kind of embarrassing.”

“God, what is it?”

“He REALLY likes you. I don’t mean he just wants to - like - ugh” - Scott did a little thrashing - “BONE you or something.”

And Stiles was suddenly fiercely annoyed. “For fuck’s sake, Scott, is it really that gross to you?" Scott's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Do you really feel like two guys together would be so disgusting?” 

“NO! Of course not, Stiles! It’s disgusting because it’s YOU!”

“WHAT?!” 

“You’re like my brother or something, aren’t you? I don’t want to even think … and with Derek, of all people.”

And Stiles stared for another few moments, then relaxed and threw his head back and laughed and Scott thought, how long has it been since he did that? He was racking his brain, trying to think of the last time he had seen Stiles look actually happy. Something had been winding up inside him for weeks or even months, some very long strand, tighter and tighter, and Scott had been aware of it, but had never really known what it was about until just this second, when it suddenly loosened up.

“So you don’t care then. If I am …”

“I care, but, only because there are so many assholes out there, and I know you have no sense of self-preservation.”

“But you don’t really think Derek is an asshole, do you, Scotty?”

Scott hesitated. “I do think he is pretty messed up.”

Stiles didn’t look happy, but he could hardly argue.

“But he does definitely, sincerely want to BONE you, as well as the other thing.”

“Stop - eugghh - stop saying ‘bone’.”

“When you fainted...”

“When I momentarily succumbed to my war-wounds, yes…”

“Yeah, when you fainted dead away in Derek’s arms like a - a maiden or something - anyway - he was … he was really careful of you.”

Stiles blushed furiously.

“And when you asked him about if you drooled on him…”

“I was OUT OF IT! I had no IDEA what I was saying!”

“You should have seen it - he was thinking about it - and I am pretty sure he WANTED you to drool on him. A LOT.”

“To DROOL on him? What are you - OH.” And Stiles shut his mouth abruptly.

“You got it now, buddy. Ol’ Derek was all about you and your drool, I’m telling you.”

“OK, Captain Porn, you can stop now. I get it.”

“YUP! I’m pretty sure he was thinking about you spitting, in a LOT of detail.”

“Scott! Quit it!” 

“Just so we’re sure, he wanted you to spit right on his PENIS. So you could like - suck that PENIS of his right OFF, got it?” And Stiles was laughing and falling off his roller chair, and yelping “Ow!” when he landed on the floor. "Yep," said Scott helpfully, "He probably ALSO wants you to spit on -"

"Please STOP!" shouted Stiles, lying on the rug gasping and clutching his side, still with tears in his eyes, until he gasped in a breath and said, “What time is it?”

Scott flipped his phone cover. “It’s not even five.”

“Right.” And Stiles dragged himself up and said, “Scotty, I gotta go.”

And now it was Scott’s turn to look dumbfounded. “What? Where?”

“Where do you think?” and Stiles’ face blazed with purpose.

 

\-------

 

“Hey.” Stiles called across from the jeep, which he had left in the driveway, neatly blocking in the Camaro.

“Hey.” And Stiles could see it all. Derek was too still, too casual. It was ridiculous. He hardly dared to look at Stiles, because he was watching him so hard with every fibre of his attention. Stiles felt it like a huge, old-fashioned movie searchlight shining on him, but from only twenty feet away. He saw Derek take a deep breath to steady himself, and a wave of sudden, total, reckless confidence poured right over Stiles' body, every muscle, every inch of skin. He sauntered over, trying not to grin like a shark.

“So, Derek.”

“What is it?”

“Scott is worried about you.”

“What about me?” 

“Well - it's interesting. He says he could tell you were thinking something weird the other day, when I fainted in front of you because I am a ridiculous girl with blonde ringlets in a frilly dress.”

“Scott should have kept his mouth shut.” The Hale-shaped thundercloud had rarely looked blacker.

“So he was right! Hmm - I wonder what these weird thoughts were about? And by the way, don’t you mean, ‘Stiles, how can you say that, you only lost consciousness because you were half beaten to death, and you are like a rugged Navy SEAL in a tac vest, and not at all like a blonde girl in a frilly dress!’?“

“Are you here to train, or what?”

“I don’t know yet.” Stiles looked over Derek’s track pants and bare feet consideringly. Unsurprising, that even his feet were beautiful - arched and pale, with clean nails and just a few tiny patches of soft-looking black hair. Stiles felt an impulse to drop to the ground and kiss them, but he put it aside for the moment. Derek moved restlessly.

“Can you run, then? Come on.”

“I don’t think I am going to run just yet.”

“Is it your side? Do the burns still hurt?”

Stiles lifted his shirt without hesitation and showed Derek, who just perceptibly flinched at the sight, although the bruises were fading, and the burn marks were healing nicely. 

“You know what, Derek? I think we should have a talk.”

“OK, I am running now.” And Derek stood up, and ran into the woods. 

Half an hour later, he ran back into the clearing drenched in sweat, to find Stiles sitting in the same position, and smiling even wider.

“Derek.”

“What?”

“You just ran away from me.”

“I didn’t run AWAY. I was - running.”

“You RAN away, because YOU were scared of ME.”

“I’m not…” and Derek couldn’t make himself finish the sentence, because it was the absolute opposite of the truth. He WAS scared. He was too scared to turn his head towards Stiles. Who was standing up and walking over to him.

“Please don’t be scared of me, Derek.” 

Derek plucked helplessly at his drenched undershirt. “I’m sweaty, don’t…”

“Talk to you? Don’t come close to you?” and Stiles stepped in, within arms’ length. “Don’t touch you?” he suggested in a whisper, reaching out to brush Derek’s collarbone with his fingertips. Derek shuddered. “Don’t do …this?” and Stiles stepped even closer, and bent his head and kissed the place he had touched, and tasted it with his unbearably cool, soft tongue, and Derek leaned into it and said, “Stiles,” in a voice so quiet it made Stiles dizzy, and he licked at Derek’s neck and then kissed his soft lips, and licked into his mouth, over and over, while Derek just stood there and took it, heavy, soft and silent. He hardly moved except for a tiny wave that ran over him with each slow surge of gentle pressure, so he was rocking, rocking, breathing silently in time, and his hand came up to Stiles’ shoulder, close but not needing to put his hand on him, as if his body heat from an inch away was enough to satisfy him.

“What do you want, Derek?” said Stiles gently, looking at his face, his closed lashes and his open mouth, when he had shifted back to catch his breath.

Derek opened his eyes. 

“I want to be a completely different person, so that I won’t inevitably make you unhappy.”

“Excellent. Very practical.”

“I want you to go and get in the jeep and fuck off so that this will never start, so it can never go wrong.”

“Too late, but you should work for Hallmark! And what else?”

“I want…”

“Yes?” Stiles picked up Derek’s hand where it hovered in mid-air by his side, and held it, waiting.

“I want you to kiss me again.”

“See, Derek,” murmured Stiles, feeling that searchlight shining on him from only inches away now, warming every joint, every knuckle, filling him with that electrifying confidence again, “at last, your luck is changing.”


End file.
